


The Little Town Of Smeerensburg

by NothingSpecialHerern



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Also they're not totally oblivious, M/M, Yen is very good at taunting people, bit of a slow burn, hopefully it won't be too long but what do I know, klaus au, more like nervous, this is gonna be fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23929522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingSpecialHerern/pseuds/NothingSpecialHerern
Summary: Letters. You don’t really write many these days, do you? But I bet there’s one you never forget. Send it off to a certain plump guy in a red suit, and, provided you’ve kept your act together, more or less, he’ll drop off a toy or two. And yet, no one seems to wonder how the whole thing got started in the first place. This is a story about letters, and it began… with this one.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 15





	1. The Academy

_ Letters. You don’t really write many these days, do you? But I bet there’s one you never forget. Send it off to a certain plump guy in a red suit, and, provided you’ve kept your act together, more or less, he’ll drop off a toy or two. And yet, no one seems to wonder how the whole thing got started in the first place. This is a story about letters, and it began… with this one.  _

In the bustling headquarters of the Royal Postal Service, letters of regulated shapes and sizes were received, stamped, sorted, and mailed out to all over the continent. Every letter that the small country of Kerack had to offer was processed here. The grandeur of the building was only matched by the measured and practiced staff, who had spent their lives perfecting the art of mailing. There was one letter that stuck out, however-- a beautifully made blue envelope with fancy trimming and perfect cursive handwriting. The letter was not to be sent out of the headquarters, but instead sent to one of the cadets in training for the service. And so, the letter was sent out to the Royal Postal Academy. 

The academy was well organized and had a new kind of energy about it, as if the land itself hummed with new opportunity. The cadets labored away at activities, dutiful in their practices. The deliverer, however, did not stop at the men. Instead he walked straight up to the drill sergeant in charge. 

“Drill sergeant, sir!” He waited to continue as the large officer in front of him turned to address him. “All the way from the top! Dispatch for one of your cadets!”

The drill sergeant took one look at the name inscribed and raised an eyebrow. The deliverer got a bit sheepish. “It’s… for him, sir.”

“I can see that.”

When the deliverer had no reply, the sergeant huffed and marched to a tent that was certainly not regulation. As soon as he was in, the sergeant yelled at the top of his lungs. 

“Cadet Pankratz!”

The smell of exotic lavender and expensive incense permeated off the various slowly burning saturated wood sticks around the room. Large planters of flowers and large-leafed plants were placed here and there. The cadet was lavishly laid across a beautifully expensive sofa, idly strumming arpeggios and runs. He made no indication that he had realized his drill sergeant had even arrived. Just as he opened his mouth to share a few choice words, the man held up a finger.

“Stop. Don’t tell me. Let me try to guess.” He didn’t give it an ounce of thought. “Hm. I give up. Who are you?”

The cadet finally opened his eyes to see a furious sergeant in his tent. His lips curled into an amused grin.

“Sarge! Drill sarge, you look great in your... Ah, uniform. Have a seat, please. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

The sergeant had to hold himself back from strangling the cadet. He counted to ten in his head and spoke through gritted teeth. “Dispatch from the General postmaster’s office.”

The cadet stopped strumming, bolting up from the sofa. “What? Sarge, is that for real? Don’t tease me, now.”

He ripped the letter from his officer’s hand, hastily replacing it with his lute. He broke the seal messily, reading the lines as fast as he could. Then, he smiled at his success. Finally, he was out of this horrid academy. He couldn’t contain a laugh as he straightened his green doublet. 

“Well, it seems our dear General Postmaster has finally seen my outstanding potential. He does know a good thing when he sees it, don’t you think?”

“I-”

“Yes, very good.” Cadet Pankratz balled up the letter and took back his lute, leaving the sergeant with a crumpled up paper in his hands. “Throw that away for me, will you? It seems I won’t be here long enough to do so.”

Pankratz took immense satisfaction in the bafflement and outrage that plagued the officer’s face. Finally, after all of this time, he was done with listening to that barking lunatic. Things were on the up and up. As he walked to the General Postmaster’s office, he waved to his fellow cadets. They barely glanced at him, since he had been a thorn in their side since day one. Well, whatever. He was better than this brutal training. And he’d forget all of them anyway when he was in charge of the place. What did it matter?

  
  


The Postmaster was not in a good mood. He sat behind his expansive desk, tapping his fingers as he picked one of the many strands of thought going through his head. 

“Nine months.”

Cadet Pankratz did his best not to roll his eyes. So this was the lecture he was giving today. Brilliant. He wished he could skip to the end. 

“It’s been a full nine months since I put you in the academy. What progress have you made in that time?”

“Well, I’ve written some of my best work, you know. In fact, I did a lovely sonnet a couple days ago-”

The Postmaster waved a hand to cut him off. He read from the official progress report sitting atop his desk. 

“Sorting and filing: total failure.”

He remembered back to the day he’d finally snapped and sent papers flying. It had been a tough day, alright?

“Carrier pigeon care and handling: abysmal performance.”

Okay, that one was not his fault! He loved the pigeons they worked with, and actually did pretty well when he bothered to show up. But that day, he’d found a package instead of a letter, and he’d had to use it. It was probably sabotage, from one of his cadets he may or may not have insulted and fought the night before. 

Okay, so maybe he was a little guilty. 

“Transport of fragile merchandise: Worst on record.”

Yeah, that was just laziness. Fair enough. 

The Postmaster raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response. The cadet sighed. 

“Well, we gave it a try, didn’t we? And, trust me, I wish it had worked out. This will just eat me up for the next couple of, oh I don’t know, weeks? Yeah, that’s a fair amount of time.” He got up, ready to walk away from this conversation. “Guess I’ll just have to pack up and do home, hm? Such a shame.”

“Stay where you are.”

“No, dad, you’re right!” Julian Pankratz flung his hands out in mock frustration. “When will I learn? When will I give in to your little uniform game and finally settle down? When will I give up all of this musical nonsense and finally become  _ exactly like you _ ?”

He all but spat the last part. He was so done with this stupid game. He wasn’t a puppet that his father unconditionally controlled. Julian watched as his father’s eye twitched in irritation. _Good_. 

“You really think I’m going to let you squander all of the time I’ve clearly wasted on you?” His father finally stood, towering over his son. “You really think I’d let you spit in my face like this?”

Julian wanted to punch him. He wanted to stalk right out of this office and stay out forever. Most of all, he wanted his father to know how much he hated him. He watched as his father picked up his cane he used to move outposts and assignments on the map he kept. As he moved toward the map, and behind Julian, he said one sentence that would change Julian’s life forever. 

“Congratulations. You are now a postman.”

Julian felt his throat constrict.  _ NO. _ Color drained from his face. He wanted his freedom. He wanted his own life. And now all of that was taken away. He felt his knuckles go white as they held onto his lute. _ This can’t be how it ends. _ “Father...”

“You are to establish a working postal office in…” 

Julian was on his feet now, watching the postman figurine move up on the map. With every inch, Julian waited for his little figurine to stop all too close to home. But it didn’t. Julian felt his heart begin to race.  _ He isn’t stopping _ . 

The figurine went farther and farther, never stopping. Julian began to feel giddy, until he realized he was going too North. He’d already bypassed all of the major cities. All of the continent.  _ No _ …

The figurine landed on the most outward town that was barely even considered part of the kingdom. A little town that had rumors passed around. A little town that no postman succeeded in. 

“Smeerensburg.”

His father, it seemed, was trying to kill him. “Father, I-”

“One year. 6,000 letters.”

“But-”

“If you fail to do so, I will officially disown you.” 

Julian froze. Did he want that? He wanted an out, definitely. But this life of pleasure was all he knew. Could he survive without it?

“Do you understand?”

Julian tried to process what was happening. He tried to put on a face, but what it looked like he couldn’t say. “Yes. I- ah, I understand.”

“Good. Off you go.”

And just like that, his father sat in his chair and left Julian to his own devices. He turned and walked out of the room, overwhelmingly confused. Was this good? Was it a death sentence? He had no idea. The best he could do was move forward. 

As he packed his things, Julian gathered his resolve. He was not going to leave like a kicked puppy. He had some dignity left, thank you very much. He lifted his head high as he made his way to front, where he would officially start his life as a postman. 

When he stepped outside, he wanted to scream. This was _so_ unfair. His father had very obviously gotten him the worst stagecoach possible. The wood was uneven and barely nailed together, its wheels thin and very clearly would jostle at every little bump in the road. The only thing that looked possibly sturdy was the horse, who stood tall and proud. She was clearly taken care of, her chestnut fur perfectly combed and cleaned. 

Well, at least there was that. 

Julian loaded up, leaving the only home he’d ever known. 


	2. The Boat Woman

The road had proven to be difficult. Apparently, it wasn’t easy to travel cross country all alone. He spent many days being rained on, or in scorching heat, or generally bored out of his mind. He had long given up writing any songs. As much as he itched to, he had nothing to write about except his own woes, which he was rapidly getting tired of. Julian was the kind of person who needed  _ people _ , and he’d spent the majority of his trip completely alone. 

Well, save his horse. 

She was quite a beautiful mare, and he enjoyed caring for her, but she was not much for conversation. He often found himself talking to her to pass the time, but she ignored him by and large. The only response he’d ever gotten was the odd insult.

How can a horse insult a person, you say? Well, it was quite simple. Stick with the same horse long enough and you can almost hear them talking back. She’d said all sorts of horrible things to him this way, and he scoffed at every one of them. 

He was talking to a horse. It was very possible he’d gone completely insane. 

Luckily for him, today was the day he should arrive at the last operating boat from the mainland to Smeerensburg. That meant at least one person was in his future. 

As Julian came to the little outpost, it was clear close to no one actually lived here. He stopped his horse and padded through the snow so he could talk to the boat man. 

Or boat woman. As Julian approached, he saw that the woman behind the desk was sleeping soundly with her feet rudely put up on the desk before her. Her fine black hair cascaded down her shoulders. She was dressed in surprisingly expensive clothing, with fine fur lining the inside. Julian cleared his throat. 

The woman sighed. “Whomever you are, you should learn to stay quiet.”

Julian was too tired to care. “I need-”   


She scoffed. “Fuck what you need.” 

Julian was a nice man. He liked to believe that he had a lot of patience. But this trip had rung every drop of patience out of his body, and he was sick of it. This random woman was not going to treat him like shit. He sneered.

“Yeah, funny. How very funny of you. That’s a nice boat you got there. Any chance you’d actually get off your ass and use it sometime today?”

The woman’s eyes snapped open. She looked cool, calm, and ready to murder him. She tilted her head. “What was that?”

Julian talked through gritted teeth. “New Postman. Smeerensburg. Which is on an island, which is surrounded by water, which I need a boat to get to, which you have. Are we starting to connect the dots?”

The woman stared at him for a long time, as if considering if this particular kill was worth her time. Then she smiled. “Right this way.”

  
  


Once Julian made it on the boat with his pitiful stagecoach, he finally began to realize how cold it was. He drew his cloak around him a little tighter. 

The woman continued to consider him, as if he were an amusing side show. He rolled his eyes. “Enjoying the view?”

“No.” She scanned the foggy waters. “Do you have a name with all that gall?”

He snorted. As if he wanted to be connected to that name now. After everything his father had done to him. He wondered for a moment if he could give a different name… 

That actually might work. 

“Jaskier,” he said, his tongue trying out his stage name he’d dreamed of when he was younger. 

She raised a brow. “Just Jaskier?”

He nodded. “Just Jaskier.” 

She seemed like she was going to ask more, but didn’t. Jaskier shivered some more. It was getting colder and colder. 

“Is the weather always like this?”

She smirked. “We’re having a bit of a heat wave.”

“Ugh.”

In the distance, a shadow appeared. He couldn’t quite make it out in all of the fog. When it finally came into view, Jaskier moved back in shock. It was the large skeleton of a whale, strapped up for all to see. Once again, Jaskier wondered what this town was really like. Bones on shores were never a good sign. 

And then, the town. It was the most dull and hostile place he’d ever seen. Houses rose out of mountainsides with the rigidness of bones snapped in half. The people were nowhere to be seen. In the haze of the fog, he felt as though he was suddenly dead, and had the worst fate imaginable. He was in hell after it was frozen over. 

“Charming isn’t it? Wait ‘till the spring. That’s when those grays really pop.” 

He glared in her direction. Very well. He’d already weathered this whole trip. He wasn’t going to suddenly turn back now. 

When the boat docked, he got in his stagecoach and moved it onto the port. To his surprise, the woman followed, simply walking up and sitting in his stagecoach. He waited for her to say something. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

As tired as he was, Jaskier was not stupid. Something was overly powerful about this woman, and he didn’t want to make her angry. 

As they rode through the town, everything was eerily quiet. He only saw glimpses of people. One couple pulled a knife out of the side of their house, only to throw it at another and return inside. Another group was hauling something that was most certainly human-shaped. The few children he did see were completely silent, staring at the obvious newcomer. He didn’t dare give them a wave. Finally, as they came to the center of the town, Jaskier had to address the elephant in the room. 

“Where is everyone?”

Her lips quirked into a smile. “Everyone.”

“There should be a reception for their new postman.” He was a little angry. After all of this traveling, he deserved a welcome party. Food and music and people. He’d been thinking about it for weeks. 

The woman looked past him. “Ring it.”

Jaskier got confused, but followed her gaze, seeing a bell that had a long rope tied to it, with an ending no unlike a noose. “Um… that bell?”

“Yes. Get on with it.”

He hesitated. It seemed like the kind of thing that was most definitely a prank-- he would know, he’s set up a few just like it. But he was hungry, and tired, and he just wanted to relax. So he got up and rang the bell. 

Immediately, people sprang from every house in sight. Weapons were torn from hiding places and screams filled the air. They were coming from every direction, ready to kill. And that was when Jaskier realized he was completely unprotected. He yelped and ducked for cover as the battle began. He dodged and weaved between the people, narrowly escaping knives thrown an inch in front of his face. Panic swelled in his chest. Cover, he needed cover. He desperately tried to think. The stagecoach! He needed to ride out of here. He crawled as fast as he could underneath the people’s feet, trying to stay quiet as people dropped around him. Oh, he was gonna be sick. 

He finally made it to the stagecoach, cowering behind it. That was when he noticed the boat woman, calmly sitting and watching the death and destruction around her. When she noticed him, she smiled. “Isn’t this nice?”

“No, absolutely not! This is decidedly  _ not  _ nice! This is- This is-” Another knife flew from nowhere, and Jasker ducked. “Oh, god, please get me out of here!”

She looked back into the show. “Hm, I think I quite like this.”

“How? How could you possibly like this?”

She didn’t answer. He tried to think. There were way too many people, he couldn’t turn the stagecoach around in the cramped space. He could run, but he had no idea where to run to. Then he saw the bell. If one ring called them out.... It was a risk. But at this point, one risk he was willing to take. 

Jaskier jumped back into the fray, pushing and shoving to keep moving forward. If they were going to fight, he could fight too. He punched and kicked and dodged as best he could, finally making it to the bell. He rang it with his whole body, begging for everything to stop. 

And then it did. 


	3. The School

Before Jaskier could even open his eyes, a booming voice covered the battlefield. 

“What is going on out here!?” A woman who could only be described as feral ripped out of her front door, glaring at the scene before her. “Why is everyone standing around?”

_ Standing around? _

“Well!” Said a suave man dressed in silks, gracefully descending his staircase. “Look who’s finally thrown in the towel. Dear Calanthe, you’ve lost your touch.”

“Oh, yeah? Why don’t you come down here and see just how much I  _ haven’t  _ lost ?” 

The two mismatched characters strode right up to one another, stopping just before each other. The woman- Calanthe, Jaskier guessed- was a little shorter, but made up for it with her intense presence. The man on the other hand was--  _ wait _ …

Was that a man? Jaskier really looked him over. He was tall, pale, and his ears… was he an elf? Jaskier got excited in spite of himself. He’d never met an elf before. The amount of questions he had! He wondered if-

“Admit it,” the elf was saying, “You’ve finally shown your cowardice and rang the bell.”

Jaskier was still standing next to the bell, and got a bit embarrassed. That wasn’t cowardice, okay? It was  _ self preservation _ _!_ Those were two very different things. Obviously. 

Calanthe sneered. “Say that again and I’ll skin your-”

The woman had stolen a glance to the bell as she talked, and was now doing a double take. Her eyes landed on Jaskier, who was suddenly wishing he’d stayed with the boat woman. At least she’d looked like she could protect him. The elf followed her gaze, and smiled sweetly in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Oh, a postman. How quaint.”

Jaskier straightened his uniform subconsciously. “Yes, I ah… My name is Jaskier.”

Calanthe snorted, then full on laughed at his name. “Jaskier? Oh please! Are you a bard on the side?”

He got a bit defensive. “Yes, actually, I am, thank you very much. I have my lute in-”

But Calanthe had continued to laugh, and the elf was sneering behind a hand. Jaskier helplessly shot a look to the boat woman, who looked like she might join in on the make-fun-of-Jaskier party any minute. Great. Just what he needed. 

“Look, say what you want, but I’ll have you know I intend to do what I was set out to do.”

Calanthe waved him off with a hand. “Yeah, yeah. We get it. Shall we, Filavandrel?”

“Yes, of course.”

They both turned on Jaskier, lunging for the bell behind him. Jaskier yelped and darted out of the way, panicking when the battle started again. He ran from the scene, hoping that he could return when things died down so he could retrieve his lute. Right now he needed cover. He ran towards a building that was farther away than the rest, which meant it was less likely to be invaded by the insanity outside. He ran for the door, bursting in and slamming the wood behind him with a satisfying  _ thwack _ .

For a couple moments, he struggled to catch his breath. That boat woman. That  _ fucking _ boat woman. She’d tricked him. When he was done with her, she’d be-

“Come to the counter, I’ll be right out.” 

The voice that spoke was low and gruff. It sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine, and for a moment he felt as though he was in the beginning of a horror novel. He’d walk to the counter and be taken apart and sold. Or worse-- he’d have to buy something. 

“A-alright, I’m warning you,” Jaskier called out shakily, “I’m n-not someone you want to mess with…”

He started to register the smell around him. Dead fish. His stomach churned. He looked around for something to defend himself. Maybe he could throw up on them as a distraction. He rounded the corner, seeing fish and octopus strung up everywhere. There were organs and bones skewed out along what looked like… Desks? 

Maybe he was just seeing things. 

There, in the front of the room, was a huge chalkboard with tallies of fish. To the side was a globe that had… seen better days. And standing over a fish was the imposing dark figure bigger than Jaskier could imagine. The man had clear claw marks across his face, and a scowl as he concentrated on his work. As Jaskier watched, he skillfully took one of the many knives from the globe and ripped the fish in half. 

If he wasn’t about to puke, Jaskier might have even thought he was hot. Instead, he paled at the display, clutching his stomach. 

The man took a look at Jaskier, and for a second he felt as if he had no clothes on at all. His eyes were cold and piercing, analyzing every part of his prey. “Uniform. Cold sweat. Scared stiff. Shaking in your boots.”

Jaskier did his best to straighten his shoulders. “I’m-”

“A postman who was dumb enough to ring the bell.”

The man ripped the spine out of the fish, taking the ribs along with it. Jaskier swallowed in hopes he would keep his lunch down. “Something like that. I’m Jaskier.”

The man smirked at the name. “Eskel. Welcome to Smeerensburg.”

Eskel held his hand out, but it was covered in fish gut fluids that Jaskier did not want to name. He nodded politely instead, and Eskel shrugged.

“You won’t survive long if you let every little fight get to you.”

Jaskier scoffed. “I am perfectly capable of defending myself. I was just... caught off guard.”

“You got a knife?”

Jaskier hesitated. He didn’t, but he was afraid of what would happen if he admitted it. Eskel seemed amused by the pause.

“You’ll need one. Otherwise you won’t survive the feuds.”

Jasker nodded. He knew the scores of feuds. None as horrid as this, maybe, but he’d seen families fight for so long that they didn’t remember what they were fighting over. In this case, it would kill everyone in the town before it got better. He looked around the room again. “Is this… a school?”

Suddenly, Eskel got very quiet. “Are you gonna buy something?”

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier walked towards him as he talked, waving his arms in accent to his words. “Clearly this is a school. Trust me, I’ve been in my fair share. Shouldn’t there be classes going on instead of selling a couple fish?”

“Shut up.”

Jaskier paused. “Are you the teacher?”

Eskel’s jaw set. “I sell fish. And you-” he indicated with the business end of his knife, “are supposed to buy fish. If not, then get out.”

Jaskier heard the growl in his voice, but he couldn’t understand. That was when he saw it-- a picture haphazardly stuck to the chalkboard. It was undoubtedly the same man, but his scars weren’t there yet. He looked happy and energetic, like he was bursting at the seams. He held the degree in his hands like it was his whole life. Jaskier pointed. “Is that you? What happened?”

As soon as Jaskier said it, he knew he’d gone too far. Eskel growled and came out from behind the main desk. “What  _ happened? _ ”

“I-I didn’t-”

Eskel grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. “What happened was, I was shipped off here. I was stuck with  _ no one _ , and no help, to get where I am. What  _ happened _ was I was sent to a place where elves and humans refuse to mix. What _ happened? _ ”

Eskel brought his knife to Jaskier’s throat, fish guts sliding down the blade. “I have no one to teach. And I need to eat. That’s what happened. So buy something, or  _ get. Out _ .” 

Just then, the door burst open. Eskel didn’t move, but Jaskier flinched.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Jaskier felt a wave of relief. It was the boat woman. 

Eskel stood straight and cleaned the blade of his knife. “Yennefer. Always on time.”

Jaskier nervously stepped away. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just…”

Eskel took a moment to study Jaskier, contemplating. Then he shrugged and went back to his desk. He continued his work without a word. Yennefer cleared her throat. 

“We have more to do.”

Jaskier nodded. “It was… nice meeting you, Eskel.”

He grunted in response. Jaskier hoped that was a good sign. 


	4. Day One

The next morning, Jaskier did not want to leave his bed. It was already cold and wet inside, with snow steadily dripping from support beams. He had only been able to find two blankets that were dry last night, and now those two were soaked through. He pulled them closer to himself regardless. He had never been so uncomfortable in his life. Did _everyone_ in this town live like this? He was sure Yennefer would never. 

He could hear chickens clucking downstairs. How were they dealing with the permafrost? He was pretty sure chickens weren’t meant for subzero weather. It wasn’t fair. To be stuck here with nothing else. Then he snorted. He had wanted this, hadn’t he? To be away from his awful father, out on his own? As awful as it was, this was home now. This is what it meant to be out on his own. 

Jaskier pulled himself out of bed with a groan, finally getting ready for the day. After all, there was a whole town to explore, and he was pretty sure there was no edible food left in the cupboards of this house. One way or another, he had to go out. 

As he took stock of what he may or may not need, he cast a glance at the mailing equipment he had. It was preposterous, obviously. This town was famous for hating postmen. There was nothing there. But if he really needed the money…

No. He could make it on his performances. There was no need to continue something he’d rather forget. On his way out, Jaskier grabbed his cloak and lute case, slinging it over his shoulder. 

The townspeople of Smeerensburg were less than friendly. Firstly, Jaskier had tried to mingle with any people he met, but was often met with complete indifference. He spent hours trying to make conversation with the odd woman doing laundry or child causing general havoc, but to no avail. People walked to and fro without so much as looking at him. He was starting to take it personally. 

But that was fine. So he had a cold crowd-- he could warm them up. He found an area that was a bit like a market, with booths open for sale. He gave the most lovely smile he could muster.

“Good evening, good people of Smeerensburg. How are you doing today?”

The stall owners did nothing but stare back. He fought the urge to call them ungrateful. 

“Well, as wonderful as that is, I can make it so much better for you!” He gave a warm-up strum, checking to see if the cold had ruined his tuning. It still sounded just as it had this morning, so he continued on, playing some arpeggios. “Prepare to be dazzled by your new neighborhood bard!”

He launched into the most jovial, earnest song he could think of, dancing around the market. When that got no response, he began to make eye contact with his audience, flirting and winking every other line. After the song, he stopped to allow applause. Instead, he got eye rolls and glares. Jaskier’s nerves were a bit shaken by the lack of enthusiasm, but tried to brush it off. That was only the first song, after all. He smiled wide. 

“Well, that was fun! How about another?”

“How about you fall off a cliff?” One nasty man sneered. Jaskier felt himself burn with anger. 

“Now wait just a-”

“You heard him,” said another, “Go find someone else to bother.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Well, maybe I will.”

It was then that he noticed someone walking along the market. It was Eskel. He wasn’t stopping at any of the stalls, simply going from one place to another. The people in the stalls sneered as he passed. 

Jaskier trotted up to him. “Ah, a familiar face! Find yourself in need of a bard’s company?”

Eskel raised an eyebrow. “And what kind of company are you selling, exactly?”

He turned a bit red. “Well, surely someone who lives this dull of a life would enjoy a performance.”

“Watching you prance around like a fool is performance enough.”

Jaskier clutched his lute. “Fool? I assure you, good sir, that I am no fool.”

“Yes, you are.” Eskel brushed past him then, walking in longer strides. Jaskier thought about leaving it at that, but he wasn’t going to get a rise out of the market any time soon, and anyway, he was hungry. Maybe he could get a fish or two. Jaskier ran to catch up.

“And what, exactly, makes me a fool?”

Eskel seemed to find something funny, smiling a bit. “If you wish to survive in this town, you really shouldn’t call me a 'familiar face' in a human’s square.”

Jaskier was taken aback. “And why would that matter?”

“Because I’m not human. And humans don’t like us other creatures.”

Jaskier remembered the way the humans seemed to sneer at Eskel for existing. “Well, that’s very close minded of them.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, because I know you,” Jaskier said, slipping his arm around Eskel’s, “And you’re not so bad.”

Eskel stopped to look at Jaskier, clearly taken by surprise. Jaskier smiled back, unafraid. He understood well the scores of family feuds, and he wasn’t going to participate in this one. Especially if it was humans versus others. That was just downright barbaric, and Jaskier had no wish to treat half of the town horribly just for the hell of it. 

Eskel looked down at his arm, then glared and roughly yanked himself away. “What are you doing?”

“What I want. You really think I’ll let myself be ruled by the petty scores of this feud?”

Eskel looked very confused. He hesitated, weighing the options, trying to trace an inch of trick in the bard’s words. Eventually, he sighed. “Have you eaten yet?”

Jaskier smirked. “My dear Eskel, are you asking me to lunch?”

“Don’t push it. I just have extra.”

“Hm, yes, I’m sure. Either way, I’m thankful. This town is, ah, less than accommodating for someone of my talents.”

Eskel smiled. “You have no idea. I’m surprised they didn’t kill you on sight.”

Jaskier paled a bit. “That’s not a concern, is it?”

“It very much is.”

“Ah. Well. I’ll have to keep my eye out, then.”

Over lunch, the two talked about everything and nothing. Usually, Jaskier would go on a tangent and invite Eskel to answer a few  _ you-know-what-I-mean _ s or  _ don't-you-think _ s in between breaths. Eventually, though, serious questions came. Eskel let Jaskier finish off his last thought before saying, “What are you here for?”

Jaskier froze. “Me? Ah, well, I’m here for… I mean, I was sent as a postman-”

“But that’s not why you’re here.”

Eskel was giving him a serious hard look, and Jaskier knew he couldn’t shrug this one off. He sighed. “I was sent here… but I never want to go back. I have nowhere else to go, really, and this is the one chance I’ve had to make something of myself in a way I can approve of. I guess…” Jaskier looked away. “I guess I’m here because I need to know that I can do this.”

Eskel nodded. “That’s an honorable reason. But between you and me, you could have done that in any city between here and wherever you came from. Why come all the way out here?”

Jaskier hadn’t considered that. “I… I don’t know.”

“Well then, I would figure that out if I were you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had finals week, and then took a few days to recover mentally. After this I should be back on track. Thanks for the comments! I love every one of them!


	5. Rumors of a cabin

After lunch, Jaskier waved goodbye to Eskel. He had a lot to think about, after all, and he didn’t want to impose. He absentmindedly found his way to the beat up post office, dropping his things at the door and plopping into the nearest chair.

“Enjoying the town?”

Jaskier scrambled to see who was there. It was Yennefer, lounging as if she owned the place and taking an elegant sip of tea. “You again?”

“Hm. Just wanted to know if your first day was as useless as it looked.”

Jaskier looked back at her. “How did you-”

“A woman has her ways.”

She had a certain gleam in her eyes that Jaskier thought he should be wary of. Then again, he was very tired, and he got the sense that if she were to do something, it would’ve been done by now. 

“Well, if you must know, it was just fine. I had a wonderful lunch, thank you very much.”

Yennefer seemed to want to laugh at that. “You know you’re here for letters, right? Did you even think about doing rounds?”

Jaskier huffed. “I don’t need to. I’m not going to be a postman.”

“Right. You just came here to play that pitiful lute.”

“It’s not pitiful!”

Yennefer got up, showing herself out. “Oh, I think your little audience from earlier would beg to differ. You have as much chance as a bard as you do a postman.”

With that, she slammed the door behind her.  _ The nerve!  _ Jaskier got up and snatched his lute, playing some complex rhythms he’d written on the road. How’s _ that _ for pitiful? He began to pace as he played. He had a chance here! He was going to prove it, one way or another. This town would love him, he was sure of it!

Jaskier took a look at the town’s map pinned up to the wall. There were only so many houses- surely someone would need a tune or two, even just as a pick-me-up. He could do this, he was sure. He picked a pen up and began to chart a path for tomorrow. He would play, one way or another, and get this godforsaken town to like music if it killed him. 

It became shockingly clear that he may have to do just that. The next morning, Jaskier had went out early in the morning to try as many places as possible in the day. It never took long for locals to eventually grow bored of his antics and shoo him away-- on some occasions they were even being as hostile to Jaskier as they were to each other. 

Of course, Jaskier had had tough crowds, but this was ridiculous. After a whole day of searching, there was nothing to show for it. As he rounded yet another corner, Jaskier was met with the schoolhouse, and a certain Yennefer lounging outside of it, sipping a drink. Jaskier inwardly groaned. 

“Well, if it isn’t the bard.”

“Don’t you have a job?”

Yen rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have better manners?”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he sat down next to her in a huff instead.As he lounged, Eskel came out of the schoolhouse, very confused by the bard that was in his seat. Yennefer offered no explanation. 

“Uh… Tough day?”

Jaskier dramatically draped an arm across his eyes. “Oh, dear friend, you have  _ no _ idea! These people are absolutely vile! I mean, it’s just disgusting! You’d think they’d have learned better in-”

Jaskier realized what he was saying before he could stop himself. He cast a glance at Eskel, who seemed to take that in grim stride. 

“It’s a shame, to say the least.”

Jaskier nodded. 

Eskel leaned against the outer wall of the schoolhouse. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll teach them a thing or two.”

As they talked, a father and his boy walked down the street in front of them. The tall and haggard man took one look at the group outside the schoolhouse and clutched his son a little tighter, pulling him along all too fast. The boy tumbled, dropping the crumpled paper he had been holding. Jaskier watched as he was pulled away before he could pick it up. 

“Well, that was certainly... odd.”

Eskel snorted. “Not really.”

Ah. So it was the feud. Jaskier got up and gingerly picked up the paper. As he unfolded it, he noticed it was a drawing, made of crude crayons and simple lines. It was the drawing of a house he had passed earlier, of which he assumed there was no one home for the silence he received. There was one difference, however-- there was a boy in the very top, looking down sadly to the scene below. It broke Jaskier’s heart to see it. 

As he made it back to their little group, he showed the picture to Yen and Eskel. They both looked fairly unsurprised. 

“You went around town, didn’t you? You saw what life was like.”

“I mean… I guess.” Jaskier studied the picture. “But… you don’t do anything?”

Eskel raised an eyebrow. “What would you suggest I do? Confiscate every child in this town and be charged with mass kidnapping?”

Jaskier didn’t have an answer to that. 

As the days wore on, Jaskier got more and more tired. Tired of what? Well, not to have a long list or anything, but rejection was in big letters at the top; He was sick of people insulting him, and he wanted to be able to pay for a good meal every once in a while. Eskel always insisted he never sold all his fish anyway, but Jaskier still felt a little guilty. He was tired of that god-awful post office and everything in it. He was tired of Yen’s heartless teasing every afternoon when they met for dinner. 

In short, he was tired. And to be quite frank, he was ready to give up. It was in this truly depressing state that Jaskier found himself completely slumped over in his post office, wishing that he could be anywhere but Smeerensburg. He was sure his door had burst open somewhere behind him, but he couldn’t be bothered to check. He heard Yen’s evil laugh. 

“Aw, look-- they finally broke him.”

Eskel was less quick to judge. He simply sat in the nearest chair that looked as though it could hold his weight. “Tough day?”

Jaskier groaned. “You have no idea. I’ve don't the same stupid routes for weeks. Nothing. Nada. Legitimately nothing has come from this. I give up.”

Yen smirked at the mess before her. “Well, if it only takes a few weeks to break you, my ferry is ready to leave at any time.”

Jaskier finally turned to look at them. “What else am I supposed to do? There’s no one left to sing to. They all hate me. I might as well just stop while I still have my sanity.”

Eskel chuckled. “Oh, you lost that the moment you agreed to come here. But there are other things you can do, you know. You could work for me.”

Yen glanced over the map at the back of the room. “Or… you could take a different route altogether.” 

“What do you mean? I’ve been on every street in this town! It’s not going to matter what order I go in!”

Eskel looked as though he wasn’t sure to laugh or scold. Instead, he helpfully stayed silent. 

“Oh, nothing… It’s just the woodsman’s cabin, up north there.” She pointed to a folded corner. “I’m sure you wouldn’t go all that way, though, seeing as you’ve already given up.”

Jaskier huffed. “I haven’t completely given up.”

“No? Could have fooled me.” 

Eskel snorted. “Well, regardless of what decisions you make, we brought some leftover fish from today’s sales. You’re welcome to them.” 

Jaskier jumped up immediately. “Oh, thank you! You are such a kind old soul! I will repay you in my own weight!”

Yen smirked. “Try the weight of the fish first.”


	6. The Meeting

The next morning, Jaskier set out to visit the woodman’s cabin. It was far North and so far removed from the rest of the town that he figured he would be traveling all day. As his beaten up old carriage dragged through the trail, Jaskier was listening to the soft crunch of snow, and the complete silence that hovered beyond it. As he traveled, Jaskier mused lyrics to describe this world. The town was deadly and scary, with little room for a bard like him. But out here, in what felt like nothingness… one could almost believe the nature around him was a companion.

And that was silly! Wasn’t it? Honestly, the longer he stayed out here, Jaskier could almost feel the draw of the snow, pushing him forward towards the cabin ahead. That was silly, of course. But…

As the cabin came into view, Jaskier was impressed. Most of the town had fallen into disarray, but this house was completely sturdy-- the mark of a good carpenter. Then again, one would have to be if they lived so far away. As he walked into the yard, however, Jaskier couldn’t find an indication that anyone had been here in the past day. Regardless, he’d come this far. With a tired confidence, Jaskier knocked on the thick wooden door. 

No response. 

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Jaskier peeked through the window to the right, and saw a completely dark room. He wondered how rude it would be to enter. 

Then again, Jaskier had never been too good at waiting. 

As the door creaked open, he scanned what he could see. There was no one to be seen. 

“Well, that’s that, then.” Jaskier turned to leave and perhaps find the houseowner elsewhere, but suddenly a huge gust of wind slammed the door shut. A tinge of fear ran through Jaskier, but he reasoned with himself that wind could not lock a door. He tried the handle, shaking the door, but it did not budge. 

So apparently wind  _ can _ lock a door. 

Jaskier groaned and looked around for tools. There was a lantern left on the table nearest to him, so he took it and lighted it. As he looked around, he was surprised to be greeted with… toys. 

Toys of all shapes and sizes, with all different purposes, filled the shelving around him. They were expertly painted and crafted, which made Jaskier wonder who exactly lived here. They were, well, beautiful. He was wholly impressed. 

But toys would not grant his release. He looked for a window, finding the one near the door completely locked and frozen over. Through the columns of shelves, Jaskier spotted one in the back. It was higher than the other, so he had to climb atop a table to reach it. As he undid the lock, he muttered to himself. 

“Dumb Yennefer, telling me to come here… Now I’m trespassing in the middle of nowhere with a person who--” He cut himself off with a gasp, watching as an enormous cloaked figure walked right in front of the window, brandishing an equally terrifying axe. Jaskier yelped as he fell off the table, grasping for anything to get him away from whoever  _ that  _ was. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he got his bearings. 

And then, as the shadow froze right in front of the window, Jaskier felt his heart stop altogether. That damned witch was going to get him killed. Jaskier now tried to scurry away, hoping to make it to a better hiding place. Toys were on the ledges he touched, and they clattered to the floor. Jaskier watched in horror as the shadow moved away from the window and the big, hulking steps came closer and closer. He desperately searched for another way out of the house in the few seconds he had, heart pounding in tandem with the ever-approaching footfalls. 

The figure tried the door, hesitating only for a moment before ripping the door open. Jaskier had to stifle a scream by practically biting his hand, scrambling for cover. The cloaked figure walked through the house slowly, taking inventory of what he saw as he went. He finally stopped in front of the row that Jaskier had knocked off the shelves. At this angle, Jaskier couldn’t have moved if he tried. The man was facing away from him, but was blocking off any escape Jaskier could of made with his hulking body and scarily sharp axe. 

When the man saw the toppled toys, he took in the scene for but a moment. He scanned the room slowly, and Jaskier held his breath as his captor finally spotted him. The man’s hair was stark white, and his eyes glowed with reflected light as if he were a cat. For a second, Jaskier wondered if it were similar to Eskel’s eyes, but quickly found more pressing things to worry about. The axe swung through the air, deftly stopping right against Jaskier’s throat. He tried to think of anything to say. 

“I- ah, oh lord- I can e-explain, you see.”

The man above him didn’t make a move, so he continued. 

“I ahm, I mean I  _ am _ a bard. I uh- I came to see if you would like a s-song-”

Jaskier stuttered as the axe slowly moved from his adam’s apple to the collar of his doublet, where he had pinned a postman insignia earlier that morning. It was just the right color, alright? He hadn’t worn it because he wanted the title or anything. But now it was clear this stranger did not believe the bard persona. 

“Ah, yes, well, I was sent here as a postman, you see, a while ago. I quite loathe that profession however and so I’ve been a bard for the most… part…”

The axe removed itself completely, the man evidently losing interest in him as a threat. Jaskier felt himself relax. Much better. Now, at least, he could breathe. 

“Why are you here?”

Jaskier shivered at the low and gravelly voice. “Ah, well, I’ve tried most of the town, and I was told you may be amenable to a few tunes.”

“By who?”

Jaskier wanted to say  _ By whom _ and correct him, but valued his life a bit more than grammar. “Ah, Y-Yennefer, and Eskel? From the town?”

Those names got varying expressions. He seemed to wince ever so slightly at Yen’s mention, but bore no ill will towards Eskel’s. Jaskier noted that in case his life depended on it. 

The man in front of him shook his head and turned away. “Get out.”

“But I’ve come a lo-”

“I  _ said _ ,” He growled, “Get out.”

Jaskier scrambled up to his feet and skipped hurriedly out the door. He hesitated at the threshold. “Those toys-”

“Out!”

Against all instincts, Jaskier obeyed. 

  
  


Geralt watched the nervous ‘bard’ take leave as quickly as possible. It was amusing, really, that Yen and Eskel had brought a singer of all people to his doorstep, but he figured that Yen may have taken great joy in seeing the bard not return as well. 

He went to close his door, but the wind picked up about him. Geralt had been around a long time, and had learned to listen when nature called. But more than that, he sometimes felt as though someone from long ago gave him a push even in death…

When he searched for what the wind was indicating, he only saw a delicate paper. He picked it up, only taking a second to see what it was. A drawing of a young boy who looked unbearably unhappy. He felt sick knowing what some of those poor kids had to go through, but he really couldn’t do much about it. 

Then the wind pushed around him and into his house, which was often a good indication that he was to turn around. The wind licked at the shelves, running through plush fur and movable joints. 

Geralt was never one to deny the wind. 


	7. A Package

When Jaskier got back to town, he burst into the makeshift butchery. 

“You will _ never guess  _ what I saw at the woodman’s cabin!”

Eskel struggled to push down a smile as he cut through a fish. “Won’t I?”

“Toys!” Jaskier sat down at a desk like a thrown rag doll. “The whole place was filled with toys! And well made ones, might I add. I mean, I’ve seen my fair share of high-end toys and I can say with  _ certainty _ that those were of the highest breed. 

I mean, there were so many as well! Does he just sit there making toys all day? He must be making them at an  _ amazing _ rate if he comes down here every month or so. It seemed like there were enough for a lifetime! You know?”

“He doesn’t come in every month.”

“No? Why not?”

Eskel shrugged. “He never comes in. He’s got everything he needs out there. I haven’t seen him in…”

Jaskier cocked his head to the side. “You know him?”

“I did. Lately he’s been so reclusive, it’s hard to say he’s still the same kid I knew. But he’s my brother, one way or another.”

Jaskier immediately perked up at the information. “Brother? Is that why your eyes are similar?”

“Uh-”

“Oh, you have to tell me about him! What’s his deal with making toys? Is it something from childhood? Does he love children?”

“Jasker-”

“Oh, I bet he’s so good with kids! I mean, I may have been shaking in my boots, but he saw me as an intruder, so his behavior makes sense.”

“Listen, it’s not that-”

“I mean, I bet that if he were to actually introduce himself he’d be more pleasant of a person. You certainly turned out  _ much _ different than your original introduction, let me tell you.”

“Jaskier!”

“Hm?”

Eskel let out an exasperated sigh. “You talk too much, you know that?”

“Having a hard time keeping up, are we?”

Eskel gutted a particularly juicy fish. “Geralt isn’t that simple. He’s… well, he’s  _ Geralt. _ He likes it up there in the middle of nowhere. He likes peace and quiet. In all honesty, I doubt you’ll meet him again.”

Jaskier furrowed his brow.  _ Never again? _ “But… you must see him sometime, right? He’s got to come out eventually.”

“Not Geralt. Like I said, he’s got it all up there. He hunts and has plenty of snow to melt. He can make everything else. And it’s not like he needs money up there.”

Jaskier thought to himself for a bit. “But he can’t manufacture people. He has to be lonely up there.”

Eskel chuckled. “Look around, bard. We’re all lonely. There is no community out there. No one cares for their neighbor. I doubt they even remember what friendship _ is _ . Far as I’m concerned, Geralt isn’t missing out on much.”

_ We’re all lonely. _

Jaskier wondered if one day, he’d be lonely here too. 

That night, Jaskier walked with heavy feet to his shack. Many things were running through his head, many ideas that couldn’t quite form. He felt as though he had put too much water in his paint, and now was trying to decipher the picture he was painting. A town without community… that’s what music was about, wasn’t it? Bringing people together, whether by love or sadness? Joy or hate?

At the very least, it explained why he couldn’t get anyone to need a bard. Of course they didn’t want one; they didn’t know what a bard was for. 

Jaskier kicked rocks as he went, barely looking up. Eventually, however, one rock was stopped short by an imposing boot. Jaskier had to look higher and higher up at the man in front of him. 

_ Geralt, _ he thought distantly.  _ That’s his name, isn’t it? _

The other part of him thought,  _ Ah, so today’s the day I’m going to die.  _

Before Jaskier could speak or properly shake in fear, the man held up a paper. 

“Where is this?”

Jaskier eyed the design. He recognized the picture immediately. “Ah, that was a child near the market. His father had walked too fast and his son dropped it-”

The man huffed, cutting him off immediately. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Ah, yes. Um. That’s near here, actually. Down that street one block and then two doors-”

“Take me there.”

Jaskier took a moment to register the sentence. “Oh, like, physically? Um, yes, of course, I can, um-”

“Quietly.”

“Quiet. Yes, absolutely. I can do-”

Jaskier was cut off with a rough glare from the man. If he remembered correctly, several of his previous teachers had made a comment or two on the vitality of talking to Jaskier’s livelihood. He sure hoped they were wrong, for it was being tested in real time. 

Jaskier silently led Geralt through the streets, itching to ask so many questions. The house came into view in all its disarrayed glory: spiked fences, falling over walls, haphazard weaponry lying about. 

“See? There it is. The picture’s a really good likeness for a child. I don’t think I could have recognized it if the kid had any less talent. What do you think?”

“Hmm.” Geralt seemed to bush off the question, not wishing to answer. Instead, he pulled out a small package. 

“Is that…?”

Despite the pause, there was no answer. 

“Hm. Great. Well, what am I to do with it?”

“You’re a postman, aren’t you?”

“How- I am not! I  _ told _ you-”

Geralt shoved the package forward. Jaskier considered walking away in a huff, but this seemed so important to him. And, honestly, he was curious to see what it really was. When he got to the mailbox, he turned around.

“This isn’t going to be something vile, is it?”

Geralt folded his arms in response. Jaskier felt like rolling his eyes. The package was roughly the same size as the mailbox itself, and as he tried to stuff the package in, he quickly realized it was too tight a fit.

“I don’t think it’ll fit. Maybe I could just leave it on the ground here?”

Geralt didn’t look like he’d accept that answer. Instead, he cast a glance over to the establishment’s front porch.  _ Great. _ Maybe he could get caught trespassing and spend the rest of his life in some god-forsaken jail. 

“Look, as nice as it would be to hand deliver this package, I have to remind you that there’s a definite fence in between us and the house. This is the best I can do.”

Geralt seemed slightly amused by that, which Jaskier did not understand in the slightest. Then he watched as the hulking man bent the very bars of the fence apart, hauling Jasker through before he could register what was happening. He managed to squeak out a ‘what?’ before hearing the scrape of metal being bent back into place. 

“Wait, no, no no no-” Jaskier tried to no avail to bend a bar. “No, you can’t be serious. If they even so much as see me-”

“Then be quick.”

“Oh, yes, easy for you to say, seeing as you’re on the other side of the damn- oh, never mind.” Jaskier grumbled as he surveyed the enemy territory he was in. “Just the porch?”

Geralt seemed to look off into the distance. “Or.”

“Or? Or what?”

Jaskier saw a flash of teeth in what he assumed was a smile, though honestly he was a bit distracted by slightly elongated canines. In a second, Jaskier felt a stray board underneath him be stomped on with so much force that it forced his side up, catapulting him as far as the roof and straight into the chimney. 


End file.
